Page 51 of Severance

Jess steps out from a group gathered near the jukebox and waves at me, a wide smile lighting up her face.

I give her a quick wave back and then I limp to meet her halfway as my gaze jumps from one exit sign to another. I can’t imagine why she chose this place—its layout isn’t the best. There are only two doors, and the large wooden tables scattered throughout are going to make it hard to get out if someone decides to open fire.

I heard the owner of the coffee shop lost his niece during the attack and volunteered to host the meet-ups here, but in my mind, I’d rather it be in the park. Anywhere with more room to run.

“I’m so happy you made it.” Jess beams. She holds out both hands to greet me and pulls me toward a table with snacks. “You have to meet Ashley and Reese.”

These names don’t ring a bell, but I nod in agreement.

“What happened?” Jess motions at my ankle.

“I sprained it. It’s nothing serious.” I don’t feel like elaborating with a bunch of strangers listening to our conversation, so I quickly change the subject. “Is there coffee?” I scan a row of muffins laid out in front of me.

We chat for a bit and Jess introduces me to some of the people, including Ashley and Reese, who are our age. There are a lot of familiar faces, and although I don’t know who they lost or if they were hurt as badly as Luke, their sadness gets to me. In a way, this meeting reminds me of Dakota’s funeral. A lot of misery and mixed emotions stuffed into one tiny place and I don’t feel like I belong here, because I can’t stomach seeing Luke still in a wheelchair. I can’t stomach seeing my best friend pretending that she’s stronger than ever. She’s not. None of us are. Deep down, we’re all cut up and twisted, but no one talks about it. The only talk I hear is about moving on.

The meeting’s extremely casual. There’s no call to order or roundtable discussion. Everyone’s gladly sharing their progress while I’m spending most of my time checking my phone and wondering when Mikah’s going to text me back.

The night of the kiss, as I choose to call it—because I’m not sure how else to define that particular moment in my life—after Mikah drove me to the ER, he took the liberty of contacting my parents. I was pissed at him when my father barged in like a speeding locomotive, freaking out and fuming. It was awkward watching the two of them engage in a silent staring competition after what had transpired earlier in my driveway. After Mikah left the hospital, I was convinced he’d never talk to me again after my car freak-out, but he messaged me a few days later, asking about my leg.

Our texting spree revolved mostly around a discussion ofDraculaand other horror books he deems worthy of reading, as if the night of the kiss was forgotten, but each time Mikah’s name lit up the screen of my phone, it made me think about the exquisite feel of his lips on mine.

Someone’s hand touches my shoulder, jarring me back to reality.

“Do you want to share your story?” Reese asks.

“Oh.” I glance over at the group and say meekly, “Maybe next time.”

She nods and steps away.

There’s a rumble near the jukebox. When the soft sounds of an acoustic guitar pour from the speakers, my heart leaps to my throat. I haven’t been able to bring myself to listen to any Midnight Rust songs yet. The mere idea of hearing Dakota’s voice sends chills down my spine.

Dread seizes my chest, pushing me to my feet. I can’t decide whether I should say something or just charge for the exit. My mind desperately tries to block the melody. These lyrics have different meaning now. They’re too much.

Outside, the air is heavy with a lukewarm mist and it feels like I’m breathing through cheesecloth. There’s a tiny portion of my brain that’s dying for some nicotine.

“Hey,” Jess calls. The slam of the door cuts off the jingle. “Are you okay?” She moves closer and concern skates across her face.

“Do you have a cigarette?” I mumble, balling my shaking hands into fists.

“Huh?” Her eyebrows pull together.

That’s right. Jess doesn’t smoke. I knew that. I have no idea why I asked. There’s not much logic to anything I’ve been doing lately. “Never mind. Sorry.”

“What’s going on, Alana?” she whispers.

“I don’t feel like I’m doing this right,” I confess. “It’s like there’s no light at the end of the tunnel.”

“There’s always light. You just have to keep walking toward it.”

“You say that like it’s eventually going to stop hurting.”

“Of course it won’t; but itwillget better,” Jess says, her tone calm and reassuring.

I draw a deep breath. My gaze flicks to hers and we stare at each other for a few seconds.

She breaks the silence. “Are you talking to Mikah?” That’s very out of the blue.

“Sometimes,” I say, glancing down at the scars on my palms.

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